DreamWorld

cogentranting:

This older Mon El is so quiet. In season 2 Mon El is almost always smiling, and talking and making jokes. Often, When he shouldn’t. Particularly earlier in the season he tends to trample through tense situations with poorly timed jokes and unhelpful (or just in-eloquent) advice. But now, he’s reserved. He listens mostly. Everything he says is measured and calm. Almost subdued. Almost sad.

And partly it shows how much more mature he is. Early on he’s referred to more than once as a frat boy, but now he’s clearly a man. And partly it’s about his greater respect and his awareness of the  position Kara is in, the pain she’s feeling. But it also reflects the seriousness of the experiences he’s had while he was away. This version of Mon El has now been a hero longer than Kara. He’s done this for over seven years. And he’s been doing it in a world that’s faced devastation (a near-extinction level  event) and he’s been doing it as a leader. And he hints at some of these experiences when he mentions to Kara that he knows the feeling of leading people into battle and not having them come home. Mon El has suffered loss while he was gone.  He learned that his mother murdered his father. Then he watched  his mother die in front of him. Then he lost all of his new found family, including Kara, and had to process all that alone and while learning to survive in a brand new world. And he thrived– he became a hero and a leader and he lost people. and now he’s had his whole world upended once again and still feels the weight of a future that’s depending on him for it’s survival.

So you have this new man. Who’s strong and quiet and thoughtful and a little sad. Except in these little glimpses, when he and Kara take a moment to laugh together and his whole being lights up with the best parts of his old self, newly bolstered by the best of who he’s become.

bellamysgriffinprincess:

bc im fuckin’ dead and these two angels are ruining me

---

He didn’t plan on kissing her. 

She’s standing over him, gently tracing the iratze into his skin. He can feel the pain in his abdomen already fading, turning instead to a dull ache. His body relaxes, but when her voice breaks as she talks about how close he came to dying, some of the tension returns. 

“People die in war, Clary,” he says, but even as he speaks the words, he knows that maybe they weren’t the best. He just doesn’t want her to worry about him. 

“My mom, and Dot.” Her voice is shaking and his hand twitches, wanting to reach out and touch her, hold her, anything to make it stop. “I can’t lose you, too.” 

His heart twists so hard that it hurts, a brand new pain almost worse than the feeling of a sword piercing his stomach. He knows the feeling, knows the splitting terror that he feels every time she’s even in remote danger. 

“You’re not the only person afraid of losing someone,” he whispers, hoping she understands. 

When he looks at her, she looks so afraid, so worried. Even so, there’s a set determination in her eyes, a fire that he doesn’t think he’s seen before. “I am tired of being afraid.”

Her hand is still on his shoulder, even though the stele hasn’t touched his skin for a while now, and he can feel her concern for him, feel it just as well as he can feel his for her. 

He knows he was right– war brings death. It’s part of the risk. It was something he accepted from a a young age, something that he knew would be a part of his life. Dying in battle was always a possibility, and he knows that.

But watching her now, her eyes wet with tears because he almost died– he’s never wanted to live more. 

For her.

So he sits up until their faces are only inches apart, and he pauses before his hand touches her face. It’s only the slightest hesitation, but he wants to give her the space to pull away if she wants to.

She doesn’t.

So, he threads his fingers into the hair at her neck and captures her lips with his. Heat sparks in his chest, warm and bright and everything he’s wanted but he thought he couldn’t have.

It’s all he can do to hold her, hold onto to every second that she kisses him back, every moment that her hand runs over his chest, every instant that he spends breathing her in. 

He didn’t plan on kissing her. 

(But he’s glad that he did.)